How did it come to this? Why have I come to wish death upon someone? Is killing the person who hurt me really enough to find peace of mind? I ask myself this question as I hide amongst the streets, terrified of being caught, humbly shielding myself from the stares of strangers. Everyone knows the face of the Silent Ghost and won't stand for me heroically helping people. Every day I hear theories and guesses about who is hiding behind the Silent Phantom's mask. Some say I've become disillusioned with heroes, others that I'm a madman trying to expose them.
My injured leg needs rest. With every jump, micro-injuries occur, building up into a throbbing pain. I have to grit my teeth against the pain and hiss like a snake, keeping the silence. From reports and news bulletins, I've learnt how desperately the heroes are trying to catch me and put me behind bars. Night patrols are now full of heroes with all sorts of quirks. Before, they made up 30 per cent of the force, but now there are too many, and I have to hide in rubbish bins.
Have I really gone too far to turn back? The thought of it terrifies me. I just wanted to prove to everyone that I'm worth something and not useless, as many think. My tentacles guide me forward, whilst in the air I hear the jetpacks of flying heroes, from whom I have to hide. They know what I look like, how I fight and when I retreat. Despite my unique abilities, they aren't enough to emerge victorious from these situations.
My head is full of questions: how? why? what for? As yet another hero flies across the sky, another thought plagues me. The scariest thing isn't the number of questions, but the inability to find answers to them. I've come out unscathed from situations where I could have died or lost limbs, but now I can't bring myself to give a clear answer as to why I'm doing this.
The rooftop structures are the perfect place for camouflage and covert movement. With every sudden noise on the street, my lungs tighten with fear, and my mind prepares for a fight. How I wish I could avoid any confrontation with a villain or a hero. I never thought I'd end up playing the villain to people, but I'm not him and I never will be.
Am I capable of crossing the line and finally doing what my brain wants? Will that be enough? Since my mother's death, I've never felt free. Every time I said I wanted to be a hero, I was lying to myself. Knowing that a monster named Senku Saki roams the streets, I find no satisfaction in saving people. You can save people every day, but you can't always prevent the cause of innocent people's deaths.
Waiting for the right moment, I leap with all my might, clinging to the roof with my tentacles. Despite the pain in my leg, they help me move, making slimy, unpleasant sounds as they make contact with the hard surface. I feel like prey facing predators. Every moment on the street in the guise of the Silent brings a terrible sense of unease and impending pain. My inner self shudders and fears the person I have become. This is not what I dreamed of, nor is it who I want to be. Ignoring the pain, I am forced to retract my tentacles and move on my feet. The roof disappears from beneath my feet, and I risk falling, catching the eye of the crowd. From roof to roof, I have to clumsily fall onto my stomach because of my own carelessness.
This isn't what I expected from a broken leg. A pained groan forces me to hide in the darkness, making no unnecessary noise. Watching the heroes, I can't help but wonder what my role might have been had I been in their place. There's just one block left to go, but for some reason my stamina has dwindled considerably. I used to be able to run 10 km in leaps and bounds without feeling tired, but now, with my knees bent and my hands braced against the ground, I feel hot sweat trickling down my back.
Is my recovering leg getting the better of me? Or is it the fear of being caught? When I ask myself this, all I hear is a growl in my head and the goal of getting home as quickly as possible after this gruelling run. If I keep a low profile, I'll make it in 30 minutes, and getting between the buildings to my house will take just 5 minutes.
The choice is obvious, the symbiote whispers to me. The longer I remain in symbiosis, the more it feels as though my thoughts are being voiced in my ears. The heat throughout my body is rapidly draining all the fluid from my system. I begin to feel a dryness in my mouth and a ravenous hunger. I mustn't waste time, I mustn't lose my mind. The longer I use my abilities, the stronger I become physically. I notice my physical stats improving, my blows becoming heavier yet no less powerful, and my leaps reaching much further than before.
If I lose control, will I become just like him? Just another beast, devouring people for the sake of survival? Visualising this scenario, I feel like throwing up the contents of my stomach right there in mid-flight.
I mustn't let the beast out; it must stay inside. Home at last. Deftly squeezing through the window, the symbiotic mass slowly begins to slide off my skin, and my legs race towards the water boiler. Like a Bedouin, I pounce on the boiler, drinking 2–3 litres of water to quench my thirst. With a heavy sigh, I tear myself away from the kettle, my eyes fixed on the fridge, my stomach demanding meat and calories. My tentacles open the door and retrieve all the necessary food.
After consuming a huge amount of calories, I feel better and calmer. My clear mind returns to its usual state. Taking a mental step back to look at myself from the outside, I realised how pitiful I looked, pouncing on the food like a wild animal. My eyes gradually close, and I am powerless to stop it. I don't even have time to realise what I'm doing before the symbiote guides me to bed, tucking the blanket around me. The care he shows is not like me at all. The alien has turned out to be a better partner than many humans, even though he's from another planet, with a completely different biology. My body aches from the strain, and my leg is still healing, tormenting my nervous system. Unable to bear the agony, I close my eyes.
I don't want to fall asleep while my body wants to give in for one night and my soul screams 'never'.
Do all heroes face such injuries, or am I just an amateur? There is still so much I don't know about the society of heroes and the secrets they harbour.
How do they conceal and heal such traumas? Unexpectedly, the symbiotic tentacle hands me a white towel. Without thinking, I wipe the sweat from my face and body, but the pain still won't let go.
'Clamp the towel between your teeth. That should ease the pain.' As absurd as it seemed, I did as the symbiont said. The bite was so powerful it could have snapped a bone or torn off a large chunk of flesh. My nervous system relaxed slightly, but the pain from my broken leg wouldn't let me rest. Lying there for three hours, mulling over all sorts of nonsense, I endured the tendons snapping back into place, whilst the healing of the broken bones was the most painful part—one I'd rather not recall.
***
'You gave her a chance?!' I hear my own voice and a scream before a gunshot rings out. My mother's killer, crawling on the ground, is choking on his own blood, writhing in agony. His limbs are broken, his face gaunt with hunger; he crawls, trying to find a way out. All he can do is pray.
Why have I started seeing myself from the outside? What is the point of all this?
'I beg you! Enough, I'll surrender to the heroes and the police, just please stop this torment.' He trembles and fears me, as if a guilty man before his executioner. There is no sympathy or compassion on my face — my own indifference frightens me. Could it be that all this time I've wanted only one thing — for the man who caused me pain to die in terrible agony?
Before the final shot rang out, I closed my eyes, unwilling to witness the demise of one of the most despised people in my life. The compassion I had been taught since childhood vanished the moment I fired again. What is happening to me? Why can't I make sense of my own thoughts?
What if I push myself beyond my limits? What if I can overcome myself and finally rid myself of these nightmares? Senku Saki's very existence threatens people's lives and their peace of mind. If I put him in prison, he will remain alive and continue to terrorise all his victims, including me. The death penalty was banned long ago, deemed an unethical method of judging criminals. Even now, at school, we're taught to show compassion towards criminals; they're all human beings and they're all victims who've had a run of bad luck in life.
'Nonsense.' Senku Saki is the living embodiment of sadism and cannibalism; he hates living people and feeds solely on their suffering.
'Just once, and it will all be over.'
***
I've never woken up with such heaviness in my legs. My shoulders feel heavier, and my heart beats more slowly, but every beat feels more painful than a hammer blow. I've stopped feeling pain in my leg—it must have fully recovered after two days of agonising recovery.
Walking through the corridors of my house, I never shake the feeling that someone is there. Someone's living presence moves through the house day after day, searching for something, but the furniture and objects remain exactly where I left them. Or is it all just my imagination?
'I suppose I need to rest more often,' I say to myself, with a heavy heart. The mirror I look into reflects my tired face and exhausted state. Despite my muscle tone, I can see a lack of fat on my shoulders.
My morning routine has become a daily grind: a shower, breakfast and off to school — nothing new in three years. I often find myself thinking about changing my whole morning routine, just to change something. I remember well the words of one character who said a very clichéd phrase, but one I still remember to this day.
'If you want to change the world, start with yourself!' The bus is packed with people of all ages: schoolchildren like me, and lots of adults and teenagers keen not to miss their stop. My phone vibrates with messages, and, glancing at it, I frown — just the morning news round-up, along with an analysis of Senku Saki's personality and the reasons behind his cruelty towards people.
'The answer is obvious. He's a madman who derives pleasure from people's suffering. If I want to find him, I know who to turn to.' Rumours were circulating online about his secret lair, where horrific things might be taking place. No one had been there, but the theory held sway thanks to films and pop culture, in which maniacs were portrayed as servants of a sinister lord. Every mention of his name fills me with fear and hatred. I try to ignore his existence, as if he'd never been there. Firmly lodged in my mind, he won't leave me in peace, and the creative part of my mind starts conjuring up terrifying scenarios.
'Who can I turn to for help? I don't know what to do.' I was stunned — for the first time, I didn't know what to do. There are good heroes and bad villains — a simple formula I've followed all my life. Has it not worked all this time?
'But how?' I ask myself. If a person steals or causes harm to others by doing something bad, then they are a villain. A hero is someone who saves people from disaster. It's a simple formula we've been taught since childhood. Isn't this the formula used to train all the heroes in the world, and in hero academies?
'Just once, we'll kill a man and forget about his death. We'll do it so quietly that no one will know, except us,' the symbiote said in a low voice. Wasn't he right? Find his lair, finish him off, destroy his body until nothing remains but ashes. No one but us would know, and the rest of the world would think he'd vanished. The idea seemed almost banally simple and obvious, yet at the same time as ingenious as the first wheel. Such a temptation showed me a multitude of advantages, which I visualised in my mind: satisfaction and, perhaps, peace of mind, and finally the souls of those who had perished at the hands of Senku Saki would be able to rest in peace. Hesitating over this decision, I didn't notice how I had reached my classroom.
Am I really living in a dream world, as Melissa said? The Symbiote just smirks and growls at the sight of her. The object of my adoration is sitting at her desk, waiting for me. My breath catches in my throat, and, scratching the back of my head, I make my way to my seat. My ears catch her bored sigh and the tapping of her fingers on the desk, as if she's been waiting for me. Like me, she doesn't socialise with either girls or boys, though her aloofness is viewed positively. She doesn't care about other people's glances or opinions. She only talks openly to me, and at the thought of this, my mind loses all sense of logic in my actions and words.
'Oh, um, hi!' — I crack my voice slightly to sound more confident, but it comes out awkward and funny, earning me a puzzled look from her. It didn't take her long to realise who it was. She smiled in her own way and greeted me, holding out her hand. Her gaze makes me a little nervous, which affects my stress levels.
"You're sweating," the symbiote says hoarsely, noticing how the host's body begins to sweat at the sight of her.
'Why am I sweating?' I ask, afraid to shake her hand.
'Why are you sweating, Izuku?' — she noticed it on my face. I can feel the sweat starting to trickle down my forehead; my body is producing sweat in an attempt to cool itself down, and from the outside it seems like a disgrace to me.
'We've got exams today, and I'm a bit nervous. I've prepared, but I'm still worried." Letting go of my hand, she noticed my nervousness and looked at me with a slightly wary expression. Under her concerned gaze, I start to feel flustered and quickly sit down in my seat. Why did I lie to her? I should have said, 'I don't know.'
'Are you all right?' — she stood beside me and touched my shoulder with her hand. She noticed that my whole body was sweating and realised that something was wrong with me. She had never come so close to me before; her touches were rare, but always pleasant.
'We can go to the doctor if you're not feeling well.' I wave my hands in denial. Her caring side attracts me even more, and my desire to get to know her better grows with every meeting we have. I've convinced her that I'm fine, but she doesn't seem convinced by my answers.
'How's your leg?' she asks in a whisper. I've come without crutches and my leg feels as though there'd never been any injury or fracture. I don't want to think back to lying in bed, writhing in agony from the terrible pain in my joints.
'I'm fine. They took the cast off yesterday after school and gave me a special injection to speed up the healing. And now I don't feel any pain in my leg.' Since when have I become such a convincing liar? Before, whenever I was about to lie, you could always tell by my facial expressions. Now I didn't notice any nervousness, fear or guilt — just a cold, precise lie that I almost believed myself. Perhaps lying isn't such a bad thing as many people make it out to be.
'I'm happy for you, Izuku. Do you think you're ready for the upcoming exams? To be honest, I'm nervous too.' She adjusted her glasses in front of me, and from the look in her eyes I could tell that she, like me, was a nerd. I'd noticed that about myself too; I'd always been a nerd, and she was partly one as well, but she has hobbies that are far more interesting than mine. If I want to become a better hero and a better person, is it worth casting aside my past and starting to build my present with her support?
'Don't worry, I reckon the " Nerds Team" will ace the exam. After all, we didn't study for nothing.' She giggled, covering her mouth with her fingers. For some reason, I like it when she laughs or shows her happiness. She adjusts her glasses again, rubbing her eyes.
"I like that name — 'The Nerds Team'. It describes us and our personalities perfectly, although I reckon you want to get rid of that nickname." I involuntarily start scratching the back of my head, feeling awkward.
"I reckon you're the one who wants to get rid of that nickname." We start laughing at the absurdity of the situation. It's amazing how our backgrounds don't affect our communication at all. We're of different nationalities, raised in different cultures, but how do we find common ground?
The teacher walked into the classroom, and it fell silent immediately. Everyone, without exception, stood up from their seats, as this was a mandatory practice to show respect to those older than us. The whole class chanted the teacher's name in unison. I was expecting Fuyumi-sensei, not the usual dull teacher monotonously reading out a text that could put you to sleep.
All the lessons we had were boring and dull. I wasn't allowed to get low marks in the tests given at the end of each lesson. UA had strict requirements regarding secondary school grades. Although I hadn't been a bookworm all my life, I spent my free time on books, textbooks and exam preparation. That was all I could do for my dream, and with the arrival of Fuyumi-sensei, I couldn't afford to mess up in her eyes.
The teacher walked round to every desk, collecting the tests from each pupil. Just to be on the safe side, I double-checked all my answers. Even my inner symbiote was confident in my answers. I put my pen down on the desk and was ready to leave the classroom.
'Can you buy me a minute, Izuku? I haven't finished my essay.' I give her a thumbs-up, all the while thinking of a way to distract the teacher. While he's distracted by the students and their pleas for a minute, I've come up with a very strange way to distract him.
Melissa is sitting behind me. She starts collecting the tests from the front row, and as soon as she gets closer to me, I'll carry out my plan. I count the seconds he spends checking each student. I've counted exactly 30 seconds, and as she gets closer, my plan seems more plausible. Finally, he approaches my desk, checking the students.
'Be ready,' warns the symbiote. He approaches my desk. Our eyes meet, and I can tell from his expression that he has no intention of speaking to me. My gaze drops, and, almost screaming in fear, I jump straight at the teacher, knocking all the tests out of his hands. Before he could make sense of what was happening, he lost his balance and fell to the floor with me. Half the class starts laughing at the situation, except for the teacher. From the look on his face, I could tell he was expecting an apology and an explanation from me as to why I'd done that. I noticed Melissa, who wasn't laughing but was focused on her test. I had to buy a little more time for her. The tests were scattered all over the floor, and some had even flown under the desks of individual pupils.
'Midoriya Izuku, I expect an apology and an explanation as to why you did that.' His tone was unyielding, and his gaze could crush the dignity of any student. He is too proud and stubborn to pick up those papers from the floor. If I can convince him, I'll buy some time.
'I'm sorry, sir. I'm truly sorry for what I did, and I offer my sincere condolences. When I handed you my test on the floor, I spotted a cockroach crawling along the ground. I'm absolutely terrified of cockroaches and was afraid it would crawl towards my feet.' I bowed at a 45-degree angle; he crossed his arms and began tapping his shoes on the floor. I managed to count just 1 minute and 17 seconds — I think that'll do.
'I accept your apology, but...' he replied after a heavy pause. "If this is some sort of joke or trick, I'll cancel your test. After this lesson, I'll carry out a health and safety inspection here. If you've lied to me, there'll be unpleasant consequences for you, young man. I won't budge from this spot until you've cleared up all the mess you've made." His nasty tone makes me want to relive this moment all over again. I comply with his demand and try to gather the papers as slowly as possible, feigning clumsiness. He exhales heavily through his nose; his impatience irritates me. I hand over the long-awaited tests; he snatches the papers from my hands with force.
'I timed it at 4 minutes and 23 seconds. That should be enough,' the symbiote replies. I bow once more and breathe out with a sense of duty fulfilled. I turn my head and see Melissa giving me a thumbs-up, making no attempt to hide her delight. The further the teacher went in collecting the tests, the more clearly his grumbling could be heard, laced with hurtful words directed at me. The symbiote inside me was extremely hostile; apart from him, I wanted to satisfy my own ego.
All the pupils rushed off for break, but the symbiote noticed something I hadn't. Spotting a tiny creature crawling behind the bookshelves, the symbiote cackled maliciously at the prospect of what was to come. The number of pupils dwindled until only Melissa and I remained. She left first, and, feeling a thin tentacle emerge from the waistband of my trousers—invisible to my peripheral vision—I flung it towards the teacher. Once the deed was done, I hurriedly left the classroom.
'I can't put into words just how cleverly you pulled that off. You bought me some very valuable time; now I have no doubt that I've passed the exam with flying colours.' Her delight knew no bounds; she was practically jumping for joy, whilst I could hear the teacher shouting from the staff room. A small smirk at the stunt I'd pulled made me even happier, and Melissa described my act of recklessness as one of the best moments at this school.
"Are you scared of cockroaches now?" she asks jokingly, as we pass classroom after classroom, a smile never leaving her face.
"It was part of the plan to distract them. The main thing is, we got the job done." I hold out my fist to bump hers in a sign of trust. The more she tells me about herself, the more I feel the need to share everything I have, but I still feel the need to lie, which really weighs on my conscience.
"No wonder you're the top student in terms of academic performance. You finished the tasks before anyone else." Her compliments feel different — something warm is warming my body, and calmness and relaxation are taking over from anxiety; I've never felt anything like this before.
'I bet you read a lot of books and articles. I remember reading one of your essays once; you wrote it in a literary, even dramatic style. Does anyone help you with that?' The distance between us keeps shrinking with every meeting. I hadn't even realised how lively and two-way a conversation could be. We were walking side by side, and I took a small step towards her. If she wants to get closer, who am I to reject her attention?
'That's all thanks to Fuyumi-sensei. When I first met her, she recommended I read some philosophical works. In her words, it helps to calm the storm in your head and find peace where there is chaos.' During our first meeting, she literally saved my life from terrible despair. I spent all my free time reading the philosophical works she recommended. Some books helped me find answers to certain questions. Still, some of the questions that torment me remain unanswered, but according to Fuyumi-sensei, that's normal. After reading a few books, I feel lighter at heart, and I've started to view certain things with indifference. I've even started talking to myself, just like in those books. I hope it's normal to have philosophical conversations with oneself.
'Sometimes I don't quite grasp the full meaning of Fuyumi-sensei's words, but I'm very grateful to her.' Despite the last lesson, I keep walking with her through the school corridors, losing track of time. We keep listening to each other, sharing funny stories and learning all sorts of details.
Once we've left the school grounds, I can't help but feel moved after every meeting we have. My heart is desperate to spend more time with her. But if I message or call her too often, wouldn't that be 'stalking'? No, I want her to feel comfortable, so she doesn't think I'm hounding her. I push such awful thoughts about her aside and look at her with admiration and awe. We left the school a long time ago, walking through the streets of the bustling city, coming up with various scenarios for future content for Melissa's projects.
'Our last video only got 1,092 views and just 20 comments. The result isn't impressive.' She's getting upset about how much effort we put into the project. I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to find some encouraging words.
'Don't worry, I think we can make something even better than before.' She stopped thinking and came to a halt. I quickly withdrew my hand and looked at her, trying to find the right words.
'Izuku, that's not the point. We put a lot of effort into that video, but that format doesn't suit the audience. We need to find a format that's in demand, one that the audience will love." After those last words, she started mumbling indistinctly, and her subsequent words were a mixture of English and Japanese. I find this very sweet, as it's extremely similar to how I behave when I'm thinking deeply about something. Are my habits really that contagious?
I look at her — at her focused face, at the way she bites her lip, sifting through dozens of ideas in her head at once. She looks almost comical in this state — like a squirrel that has forgotten where it hid its nut and is now going through every possible option.
'You're smiling like an idiot,' remarks the symbiote.
'I know,' I snap back in my head, but I really can't wipe the smile off my face.
'Maybe we could film something about the heroes?' I suggest, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Not in terms of ratings or fights, but… well, I don't know. Show what goes on behind the scenes? How they train, how they recover from injuries?" Melissa freezes. Her eyes widen, and she looks at me as if I've just discovered a new law of physics.
"Izuku, you're a genius."
"Me?" I blink, trying to follow her train of thought.
"I just said it."
"It's obvious! People want to see real heroes, not just a picture on a screen!" She grabs my hand, squeezing so hard that my fingers start to go numb. "Imagine: an inside look at the rehabilitation centre, interviews with those who've suffered serious injuries but keep fighting, a report on how the new recruits train..."
She speaks quickly, almost breathlessly, and her words merge into a continuous stream of inspiration. I can't keep up with her, but I don't need to. It's enough just to watch her eyes light up.
I keep throwing ideas at her, and she eagerly recounts all the possibilities that might unfold if we take a bold step forward into the future. I feel disgusted with myself for lying. What sort of hero would lie to those closest to him without a twinge of conscience? I'm on the verge of revealing myself, but my mind won't let me do it. If anyone finds out about my loved ones, they'll try to harm them. I mustn't put them in danger; that will never happen.
'Izuku, can you hear me?!' — I snap back to reality and realise I've nearly crossed the road on a red light. Melissa is holding onto my rucksack strap, trying to save me from a car crash. Cold sweat trickles down my cheek, and my body breaks out in goosebumps at the realisation.
"If something's bothering you, we can talk." Her concern was genuine, without pretence or lies, without mockery or ridicule. I hold myself back so as not to say too much, but lying to someone close to me to their face is the worst thing I've ever done.
'What would you do to someone who'd caused you so much pain?' I shudder at the sound of my own voice. I've never been so afraid to look someone in the eye as I am now. My gaze drops to the ground; I'm terrified of what she might say. An awkward silence hangs in the air, broken only occasionally by passing cars. Anxiously, she touches my shoulder, and when I look at her, I see her taking off her glasses with a sad look in her eyes.
'I... I... don't know what I'd do in a situation like that. I've never thought about it before.' Why did I say that to her? She was lost for words, her voice trembled, and her earlier joy gave way to sadness. I feel like the biggest fool in the history of mankind for daring to ask such a thing. A huge lump forms in my throat, one I can't seem to swallow.
'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you that. I'm sorry...' Under her gaze, I start to stumble over my words. She remains silent, waiting for my reply, and as I look at her, I can see that she's thinking about her answer too.
'I would have made sure my abuser received the fairest punishment. This is too strange a question for me.' She mustn't know the truth about me. I don't want her to think of me as a murderer. Why am I afraid of her reaction?
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to ask, and I couldn't think of anyone better to ask about this than you. What an idiot I am." My hands cover my head in shame. Tears well up in my eyes; I don't want to see her worried face. Why do I make people uncomfortable who genuinely care about me and for whom I'm not just a blank space?
Emotions are getting the better of common sense. I want to burst into tears like a little child, right in the middle of the street, choking on my tears. I never shed a single tear in battle, and now I feel like the weakest creature on this planet. I close my tear-filled eyes, waiting for her to look at my pathetic tears, thinking of me as just another crybaby.
I sniffle, feeling a soft hand touch my forearm. Frightened, I take a step back, trying to get as far away from her as possible. She doesn't back down, keeping her soft hand on my forearm.
'Izuku, look at me.' With tear-filled eyes, I open them briefly to look at her. There is no pity in her gaze, but something else I cannot quite make out. She takes a step forward, drawing even closer to me. With a gentle force, she breaks down the barrier I've built from fear and shame.
Her hands rest on my wrists, and she slowly, almost tenderly, pulls them apart. My face, wet and red, is left completely exposed to her. I expect her to turn away or say something like 'pull yourself together'. Or, worse still, to start comforting me the way they comfort small children — cloyingly sweet and insincere.
'I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. Let's just forget about it,' I say, my voice breaking. She just looks at me. Her gaze slides over my face, and there isn't a trace of pity in it. There's something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on. Patience? Understanding? Or perhaps she's simply waiting for me to decide for myself what to do next.
'I want to help. You shouldn't keep it all bottled up inside. It's not right,' she says softly and beautifully. She holds out her hand to me with kindness, and my hand reaches for hers, wanting to escape this mental torment. My mind can't come up with a single word in my defence; it has stopped thinking, and I can only be guided by my emotions.
'Friends are meant to help each other, aren't they?' Once again, I feel her soft, well-groomed skin, so pleasant to the touch. I look pathetic next to her, she is so much stronger than me.
'Yes,' I reply dryly, not realising what I'm doing. She sees the despair in my eyes, though she has to squint to notice it.
'I think you're incredibly strong, Izuku. You've been on your own all this time, and you've managed it—it's truly inspiring.' My heart can't bear such warm words. Could I really be inspiring anyone?
'I'm nothing compared to you,' I reply desperately, as if the space around us has vanished. I've stopped paying attention to my surroundings, focusing only on her and no one else.
"You didn't give up and kept moving towards your goal. I think that's a huge achievement, and compared to you, I'm a real coward." She's wrong; she's strong too. She doesn't believe in herself, and I have to fix that. The tears vanish, drying on my cheeks. Why do I see myself in her?
'No, that's not true!' — I snap at her, trying to prove the opposite. I'm angry with myself for making her feel worthless. That shouldn't have happened. What a fool I am for not thinking of that. I argue with her for 10 minutes about why she's better than me. She mirrors my words, proving why I'm better than her. Her words make me feel awkward, and my cheeks flush with tension.
I'm the first to fall silent. Not because I've run out of arguments, but because I realise this argument is pointless. We're both trying to prove that the other is better, and neither of us believes in ourselves enough to accept a compliment.
Melissa falls silent too. She looks at me with reddened eyes, and I notice her lips trembling slightly — whether from laughter or from fresh tears.
I find something in her that resonates deeply with my own soul, and, taking her hand, I walk alongside her, paying no heed to the movements that are so unlike me. She truly values me, and how can I repay her in kind when I have nothing to offer in return?
We reach her café, 'Space Needle'. All this time I haven't let go of her hand, feeling a strange sensation in my body. I don't want to let her go, and she doesn't want to either. She looks at me without her glasses, and I can't help but stare at her blue eyes, sparkling like stars. She hands me her case, and when I open it, I find her glasses. I look at her again and see her embarrassment. Without saying a word, I put the glasses on her, just like last time. I've never been close to anyone but her.
Did she actually like that? Does she like me? My grip loosens on her hand, and strangely enough, my fingers don't want to let hers go. She clings to my fingers, stretching out the pleasure for as long as possible. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I put her glasses back on and, sighing with excitement, make her a promise.
'Let's support each other, so that everything is fair,' I declare. From the look in her eyes, I can tell she isn't happy with that.
'No, that's not fair. We'll support each other, and together we'll be able to achieve what we want most of all. Do you agree?" I don't think about the consequences, because her words are the best I've ever heard in my life; I'll never forget this day. I hold out my hand to her, squeezing it firmly without using too much force. She waves happily at me and, feeling a sense of sadness, walks away. I feel the same emotions as she does.
Before she goes into the café, I see her turn around and look at me. Scratching the back of my head, I walk home feeling empty, as if my heart had been ripped out.
I'm heading home, but my feet are taking me in the wrong direction. I wander the streets, looking at shop windows, at people, at their ordinary lives. They laugh, argue, rush about on their business. None of them know that inside me there is emptiness. It's as if someone ripped out my heart and took it with them to a café called 'Space Needle'.
Home has always been empty and one-sided. All my painful scars start to ache with renewed intensity. I used to conjure up all the worst thoughts only at home, without warmth or support. If I had the chance, I'd move away, forgetting everything that tied me to this 'bad' place. Thoughts crowd my mind, giving me no peace. Dropping my bag by the door, my hands reached for the fridge, pulling out some cold snacks. I want to distract myself from everything that's troubling me, but imagine my surprise when every TV channel was talking about just one person.
'Saki,' I whisper. One of the victims described him as a monster incapable of mercy. The news reports showed how Saki killed yet another victim in the middle of the night in a quiet spot, with no witnesses. What disgusts me most is how people are willing to pay to watch such a spectacle. Millions are willing to watch a murderer as if he were a celebrity. Crossing the line and putting an end to him was, and remains, the sensible decision.
Many souls will find peace, and the name of the Silent Phantom will vanish as quickly as it came into being.
'What are you planning?' the symbiote whispers to me, switching off the TV and placing the plate on the table. At a mental signal, tentacles wrap around my skin before I can utter a word.
'He must be dealt with once and for all.'